


Westbound

by TheDump



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Buncha actual fucking idiots, Childhood Trauma, Dumbasses, Implied abuse, Manipulation, Minor Violence, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDump/pseuds/TheDump
Summary: Bert Gibbens is running away from Wyoming to Nevada. Shit? It goes pear-shaped.





	1. Chapter 1

The light blue of the morning sky stretched out and over the desolate plains like a blanket. Not a cloud in the sky, the only thing that broke up the limitless expanse of blue was the sun, beating down on the metal canvas of the caravan. It was hot as hell in the caravan, but the shade the canvas provided beat out walking in the sun. The rhythmic bouncing of the caravan was slowly lulling Bert to sleep, his head dipping down and then bounced back to attention occasionally. Slowly, but surely, his head would dip back down. This repeated until a hand slammed on the side of the canvas. Bert awoke and moved like he suddenly had a fire lit under his ass, poking his head out the back of the caravan. He looked over at the man who was slowly keeping pace behind the caravan that was slowing to a stop. He had a gruff look about him, a thick mustache hiding his mouth. If he even had a mouth that is ...Bert often imagined a thin piece of skin where a mouth would be, actually having a speaker in his throat that made it sound like he talked. However, he left such fantasies behind for now. 

He hopped out from the back of the caravan, every bone in his knees, letting out a series of cracks as he landed with a squat. A low hiss left his lips as he stood back up with some delay “Need something?” Bert asked, turning to Mr. Moustache with a cheeky grin, stretching from ear to ear. 

“Hope it ain’t too much to ask you to do your job.” He was gruff, clicking his tongue and motioning towards the caravan in front of the one Bert was hitching, another guy was pulling and tying the tarp back, revealing large sacks of what was probably some sort of flour, or grain. Could be corn dust for all Bert knew or cared. He strutted over to the caravan and gave a glance to the other guy who had scraggly black hair and a thin frame. The guy really wasn’t much to look at but he seemed to be carrying the sacks just fine. So Bert, with full confidence, reached in and lifted the sack, the weight putting him on the backpedal as he wobbled to and fro trying to find his footing. He could hear a voice in the back of his head yelling to lift with his legs. Once he found his balance he hurriedly shuffled towards the thin fellow to catch up. 

They walked up the line of caravans, Bert wasn’t sure if he had ever seen this many Brahmin in one spot before. It was certainly impressive when they all moved slowly in single file along the dirt roads and cracked pavement. They were heading West towards Nevada, and Bert was just conveniently hitching with them for both work and transport. Once he was in Nevada, New Vegas would finally be within his grasp. He had heard so much about the place… most of his friends were running away from New Vegas, but something was telling Bert it was the place to be. He was missing something, and New Vegas was home to nothing but the right kind of crazy. Going alone was a bit of a… admittedly stupid idea. Yet he knew he could never convince the others to go to New Vegas. I mean, why would they? This was Bert’s mistake to make, and he was off to make as many as possible. To what end? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he was looking for something. He wasn’t sure if he had ever lost it or even if he had ever had it but he was searching in Nevada for a special something that was irreplaceable, and invaluable. 

Bert saw a checkpoint in the distance, made out of nothing but scrap and wood. It looked like bandit work, with a few guards standing over it in very obviously not military uniforms… Yeah, these were raider parts alright. He continued carrying the grain to the checkpoint, a man with a metal mask made directing motions towards a nearby table, his voice was like twisting two rusty pieces of metal together. 

“Just set it right ‘ere on the table.” the checkpoint bandit turned towards the gruff man with the mustache, “Jeremiah Joplin you come through again, always happy to watch your caravan.” Bert’s ears perked up, setting the bag down on the table and listening in on their conversation 

“You keep the roads cleared, we keep coming through here. Nothing to get sentimental over.”

The raider put his hands in the air defensively, “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t dream of it. Be warned, by the time you come back around the boss is thinking about raising the uh, toll. Activity is getting a bit… hot. Keeping these roads safe is hard work ya know.” 

Jeremiah raised a hand to quiet him, “Say no more, we’ll come back around with extra just in case. Just don’t think you can screw my thumb two hard before I start making a fuss.” he clicked his tongue, motioning at the front of the caravan train. The Brahim lurching forward through the checkpoint at the bandit stepped off to the side to let them through

“Rotating through new helping hands?” The checkpoint bandit eyed me and the other fellow who were still floating around seems like he had an interest in Mr. Joplin’s conversation as well. Bert stood to attention, giving a smile and a wave at the bandit. He was really good at giving off the air of somebody too stupid to know how to act in any given situation. 

“Just more folks looking for a free ride and some extra caps along the way. Nothing new. The stick is from Wyoming and we picked the other one up along the way out. Walking around in the middle of the wastes. Least he knows how to move things around when he’s told to. You two, hop in the middle caravans and keep watch.” he made a jerk towards the passing carts. Bert, with a small hop in his step darted towards the caravan carapace, grabbing onto the edge and tossing himself through into the back. He could hear something from the Checkpoint bandit akin to a whine of some sort. Bert didn’t really catch what he said before the caravan was too far away to listen in. It was a bit of a weird order to pay off bandits who make sure the area is clear of any of the usual suspects for missing caravans, but then still have people keeping watch. Then again, Bert doubted Jeremiah made much money not being careful. Bert adjusted his grease gun in his pocket, keeping his eyes just out on the rolling plains, the thin grass softly swaying in the breeze. Yet like a lullaby, he could feel the sway and rock of the caravan slowly lull him into another nap. 

He had a dream he was walking along a desert with a dark sky. It didn’t feel like he was walking, it felt more like he was gliding across the dead plains. Was he in Kansas again? Long dead planes with nothing but the sky kissing the dirt for as far as the eye could see. Bert realized why it felt like he was gliding. Someone was carrying him, and he couldn’t make out there face. He reached out to their face, like someone who couldn’t see reaching out to feel around. His hand touched them, but it didn’t. His hand simply felt like it was gone now just like the other’s face. A void of something he could quite recall, or maybe he didn’t want to recall. The figure just continued to wordlessly carry him across endless plains. Bert considered trying to move out of their arms, but something compelled him to stay still. Like even if he wanted to leave, he’d be unable. Without warning, the figure suddenly dropped him and Bert thunked against a hard pile of boxed goods in the back of the caravan. The coach had stopped rather suddenly, the caravan bucking back and forth. Were the brahmin freaking out? Bert started to crawl out through the tarp to get a view of the situation, the brahim in the caravan behind his were huffing and trotting about, the handler working quickly to keep them calm. The light was just trickling out from the horizon, a dull orange hue taking the world. Bert guessed there was maybe another hour or so of daylight before it would get dark. 

Bert scratched his head and approached the brahmin handler, readjusting his cap with the other hand “Why the sudden stop?” 

“Camping for the night is my guess. Boss hates setting up in the dark. It takes a bit longer to get anywhere that way, but I don’t have many complaints. Hey, head up towards the front. Bet he’s got some busy work for you.” He seemed done talking to Bert, diverting his full attention to the brahmin, giving them light pets and whispering to them. 

“Well, I guess I’ve slacked enough…” Bert mumbled to himself, heading towards the front of the caravan, seeing Joplin giving an order to the other helping hand. He had a look about him that was weary, thank god Bert didn’t get to Joplin first. He might’ve gotten stuck with whatever the other guy had to do. 

“Glad you could show up ragweed, you can help Harris here.” well shit. 

Bert grimaced to himself, his wide smile tightening lightly, “Yeah sure what’s the work?” 

“Firewood” he jabbed a thumb at the steep incline that made a wall for the path, “top of the hill here there’s a woods you can collect from. Not asking you to chop any fucking trees down, the Fleet Hound boys keep a stockpile of pre-chopped wood for caravans that run through here. None there? Split some logs.” Bert suddenly understood Harris’ apprehension, chopping firewood sounds far from either of their specialty… the two of them were a pair of weak-armed noodle bastards. 

Bert slowly nodded to the instructions, “Fleet Hound? That the bandit names who run the road here?” 

“Yeah, never heard of them? This road used to be NCR run but got overrun by a bunch of naturally nasty pieces of work. Mostly a deathclaw nest rooted itself nearby and the soldiers got overwhelmed before they realized the danger. Fleet Hound is a larger group from up north, came in with enough firepower to level a city and took control of the checkpoints. Bandits or NCR, as long as the roads good and the caps are red….” he made an ‘it is what it is’ hand motion. 

NCR, Bert had heard that name before. He didn’t know that they were stretched out even here. Then again, it was obvious they didn’t have a very good foothold in the area. They always seemed rather… stretched out from what Bert saw. From what Bert heard, that came from an over-ambitious governmental type plan. Bert was never very well interested in anything with the word ‘government involved’. Though he vaguely understood what it meant, he had enough understanding to know he didn’t like most of it. Bert started towards the steep hill, grappling onto it to start the climb up the hill. Harris seemed to wait for a second, looking around but eventually following behind. 

“Is this really the best way about this?” Harris asked he was a kind of meek fellow. His voice spoke volumes to his meekness. He strangled behind Bert as they clambered up the hill 

“Most direct way about it.” Bert brushed his knees off at the top of the hill, offering a hand to Harris as he got closer to the top, pulling them up over the hump. 

“Whatever you say… eh, sorry, but what’s your name? I don’t think I ever caught it.” 

“Hm? Oh, think fast then. It’s Bert Gibbins.” Bert shot him a pair of finger guns, Harris’ face scrunched slightly in confusion 

“Think fast?”

“Like… you... “ Bert let out a short huff, “you said you didn’t catch it right? So I am saying, think fast so you can catch it. Like, saying think fast implies you’re catching something.”

“But I am not”

“I know you’re fucking not catching anything it’s because you said catch my name I am just-”

“But it’s a name you can’t catch a name”

“YOU SA-” Bert took a very deep breath, “it was a dumb double entendre.” he started walking into the woods, keeping an eye out for the woodpile 

“...Alright, whatever you say.” Harris followed behind, brushing off some dirt from his knees. The forest was thin with stumps about everywhere. Looked like the Fleet Hounds didn’t do much restoration work. No surprise that bandits didn’t know much more than just ‘swing ax, drop tree’. Bert spotted a pile of logs with a thinner pile of split logs next to them. A stump that had been smoothed down had an ax sticking out from it. It had a light coat of rust along with it, if Reya were here she’d flip her shit at it being a health hazard waiting to happen. He could hear it now ‘Who the HELL just leaves axes out in the open to rust? If any of you get tetanus from leaving shit out in the open I will literally scream.’. Bert shook himself back into focus, bad time to be thinking about Wyoming. He’s gotta leave thoughts like that behind now or else he might accidentally chicken out. He wasn’t sure what’d be worse, going home before they get too pissed or going back without finding whatever it was he was looking for… He just grabbed the split logs, tossing one to Harris who fumble-fingered with it before securing it in his hands. 

“Do you think this will be enough?” Harris inquired skeptically, looking over the pile 

“I mean how many are we really gonna need? If he wants more he’ll tell us. We’ll toss the logs down the hill to him and then chop some more… or uh, try to. Ya know. Effort counts for something, right?” 

“Right… Not sure if effort counts for pay.” he grabbed another log half, stacking it on top of the one in his arms 

The two of them gathered the logs, heading back to the edge of the hill, bracing themselves so they wouldn’t slide down the steep face. Joplin was preoccupied with one of the handlers

“YO, Mr. J we got some wood! Is this enough?” Bert held up the stack in his hand while Harris just held his steady to not risk dropping it on top of his current boss. 

Joplin looked up at them and squinted hard, there wasn’t much of the day left and visibility was getting limited as the sky turned from a warm orange to dark blue. The stars were just peeking through the daylight and the moon was clear in the sky. It was the introductory clause to the night, “We could maybe make two campfires with that much wood if we were rationing it. Was that all you could grab?” 

“Yeah, there wasn’t that much up here. Will two cover us?” Bert asked, his arms were getting tired already 

“Toss it down and scrounge up some sticks, we’ll make do with what we got… but I want an armful of sticks from both of you! No slouching yet.” 

Bert and Harris rolled the half logs down the steep hill where Joplin and the handler collected the wood and headed out to the clearing on the other side of the road. Turning around back towards the thinning forest to collect sticks. They had to head deeper into the forest, to where a majority of trees still stood. Night came upon them faster than they expected, and soon Bert realized while reaching down for a stick he couldn’t quite see it anymore. He looked around for Harris in the dark woods, seeing a figure moving around in the dark. 

Bert cleared his throat, calling out to the figure “Hey Harris we should head back to camp alright?” The figure froze in place, turning towards Bert slowly. Then Bert heard Harris call back from behind him. 

“Yeah alright I am heading there now. I can see the light of the fire peeking over the hill edge so getting back shouldn’t be too hard.” Bert could clearly hear Harris a bit behind him. Followed by the crunching of leaves as he started walking back to camp. Bert was wondering if his eyes and ears were whacked out. How could Harris be in front of him and behind him? His blood was starting to freeze in his veins, clogging his joints and keeping him perfectly in place. 

Who the fuck is this?

Bert wasn’t sure how far Harris had gotten out by now. If he yelled would Harris be able to get to him fast enough? Maybe this was a handler who had wandered up here? If so, why were they standing so still? It reminded Bert of an animal caught in the middle of doing something it shouldn’t be, it reminded him of what he was doing right now. The two of them simultaneously caught in a frozen moment. What happened next was determined by who moved first. 

Suddenly the figure burst into a sprint, their footsteps quickly approaching. Bert retracted, they were fast. They were really fucking fast! Bert gripped his bat that was hanging over his shoulder on his back and took a wild swing to see if he could catch them. The figure skidded to a stop, falling on their ass to avoid the attack. Bert took the moment to reach into his pocket and to point his grease gun at them, “Speak before the gun speaks.” that was way too fucking close. 

The figure was hard to make out even up this close, but Bert’s eyes were slowly adjusting. They seemed to be wearing some sort of high collared jacket with a brimmed hat. Bert could make out goggles on top of the hat. The figure held their hands up slowly, dropping what vaguely looked like a knife onto the dirt. 

“I said speak, are you deaf? If you’re with the caravan just say so now.” 

The figure tilted their head slightly, “Bert?” 

Bert hesitated, pulling his gun back slightly “Wha-” 

Suddenly the figure was a blur of movement, Bert tried bringing his gun back down but they were already tackling him. His back hit the ground and soon after a hand grabbed his wrist and slammed into the ground several times until the gun came out of his hand. It was smacked away as a forearm pressed on his throat, “Speak before the gun speaks? Really?” 

Bert made a ‘your fucking forearm is on my throat’ noise. That voice, did he recognize it? It was definitely female. He could recognize that much at least, how did she know his name? Did he know her from somewhere? Damn this darkness he can’t see jack nor can he see shit. 

“There’s about to be a whole squad of NCR troops rolling in here to seize your caravan for its illegal to transport and supplying bandits. How many other idiots are toting guns?” she pulled her forearm up off his throat.

Bert let out a sputter and cough “I am sorry but who are you? Do I know you?”

She sat up, Bert’s hands rose to push back at her but then she pulled out a gun and pointed it at him with a resounding click as she readied it “My question first” 

“Y-you won't shoot me. The whole caravan will light your asses up.”

“Trained military versus a caravan of traders.” she pushed the barrel to his brow, pushing his hat off his head. 

Bert’s fear was suddenly exposed to the other, his mind was racing with ways to try and put his hat back on without getting shot in the fucking head.

“It’s- you cant….” she probably could, “there’s… Me, and- and a few others. I think maybe no more than 9, maybe 10.” 

“Thank you kindly, Rat.” 

Bert felt growing bile in the back of his throat. Not like real vomit, but a vomit of everything not real. Of memories, emotions and other such non-physical things. Maybe he’d just vomit up all the chemicals that apparently cause those sorts of things. He knew this girl, he really did. It had probably been 4 years since he last saw her, “Leech?” 

Leech didn’t pull the gun off his head but she certainly seemed slightly deflated now, “Yeah, it’s me. I was really ready to pistol-whip you unconscious.” 

Bert looked around nervously, quietly praying for Joplin to sniff out something suspicious going on and saving him from his past. The last time he and Leech met it was awkward. He had shot her, and he was really hoping she didn’t return the favor, “What’s uh, stopping you?” 

“I am not really sure. It’s getting on my fucking nerves because I am getting an ache where you smashed my eye.” 

“How’s… how’s that eye doing?” 

“I wear an eyepatch now.” 

There was a long silence before Bert replied, “You’d look good with an eyepatch” 

Then she pistol-whipped him. 


	2. Warm Welcome

Bert was hazy, doozy, and all sorts of woozy. His head felt like someone had lit a fire in the back of his skull, and his back ached like nothing else. His wrists felt raw, and his shoulders felt tight. He tried to roll his shoulders, his arms rubbing up against some sort of rope. Bert was slowly realizing the kind of situation he was in as he peeled his eyes open. His hands were pulled around a wooden pole and tied together. Bert slowly pulled himself to his feet, grinding his back up against the pole. If he got splinters they were gonna be a pain in the ass to pull out that was for sure. He wiggled his head a little, his hat wasn’t on his head. If they left his hat in the woods, he was going to throw a fit.   
“Bert Gibbins, age 20, a known member of B-Class Mercenary band The Neon Warheads of Wyoming. Yet here you are, couped up with a caravan roaming through bandit territory.” Bert hadn’t noticed the woman sitting in a chair across from him, seemingly reading something while bringing a metal cup to her lips and taking a sip. She was much older, with clearly defined lines around her eyes and cheeks. She looked up from what she was reading, giving Bert a sharp look. Bert avoided eye-contact, instead of looking at his surroundings more. It was a leather tent, with light pushing through the material and leaking out through the flaps in the front. He could just make out movement on the other side. His eyes then darted to what she was reading and- hey! That was his comic!   
“Why do you have my stuff….?” Bert squinted at the comic, it was Crendor the Gun Wizard.   
The lady set the metal cup off to the side, closing the comic book with one hand, “Confiscated it, along with your gear, and yourself.”   
“Excuse me, are you trying to say I am confiscated material?”  
“Your employer didn’t seem to have much issue with it.” She set the comic book down on the table, standing up and heading to a table on the other side of the tent where a tarp laid over the table. Bert only assumed the massive lumps across the tarp was all his stuff.   
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”   
“No jokes here, son. We surrounded the caravan members and took double what they paid the bandits. I made the offer to return you safe and sound if it was made triple but your employer was very firm on not doing so. So you, by all means, are confiscated goods.” She pulled the tarp off to the side, looking over every Bert had packed with him when he split with the caravan. His hat sat on the far end, Bert was getting antsy. His hands were going to wring themselves raw in these ropes with how nervous he was.   
“You… He just- Fucking piece of shit didn’t even pay me upfront! FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!” Bert stomped the dirt in front of him, ready to scream fuck again but was stopped by a low hissing. The older lady had a finger pressed to her lips, letting out a low shhhhh.  
“It’s what you should’ve expected working with a man who deals with bandits.”   
“Hey, he’s a piece of shit but it ain't his fault the safest route is run by bandits, that’s the NCR’s fuck up.”   
The older ladies face pulled into a look of disgust, “It’s the duty of every person to not provide resources to bandits. Not just for their fellow man but for themselves. NCR doesn’t have any problems with punishing the amoral.”   
“Tsk. So, what’re you gonna do with all these confiscated goods? Huh? Are you gonna clear out the Fleet Hounds or keep bitching about people using that path?”   
She didn’t seem to acknowledge him, looking up and down what they took off of Bert, “Three handguns, one of exceptional quality. Three submachine guns. A specialized launcher of some sort, various knives and blunt force weapons. Also, a surprisingly high count of assorted pens. Also, one hat, one journal and various holotapes with nothing to play them. Bert Gibbins, you didn’t pack a single piece of medical equipment, let alone any rations.”  
Bert shrunk into himself a little, eyes darting to the floor, “I didn’t want to take any. I’d have to pull from the band’s inventory and I am not gonna leave while taking shit from them. That’s rude.”  
“So you’ve left The Neon Warheads?” her eyes darted back to him, staring him down   
“Yeah. ”   
“Aha, right. Well, former mercenary Bert Gibbins, I am sorry to inconvenience you so but as a new asset of the NCR...” She stepped over to Bert, hands behind her back.   
“I don’t like where you’re going with this ma’am.”   
“Bert Gibbins, because of your combat specialties and work with The Neon Warheads, I am employing you as an NCR Mercenary. You will be paid in your freedom.”   
“What if I said fuck you.”   
“Then you’re obviously not going to be made free.”   
Bert felt the tent get smaller, the woman was too close now. He was stuck again, except this time he didn’t get to pack up and leave without getting shot in the back of the head. He racked his brain for an out. He wriggled his arms for an out. Neither got him too far. Everything from here on was a gamble he was set up to lose.   
He licked the inside of his dry mouth, “I wanna talk to the soldier that bopped me”.   
“Excuse me?”  
“That leech lady. I wanna talk to her instead.” Bert was pulling his confident tone out of his ass, his eyes could barely look up to meet the woman.   
“Is there a reason why?”  
“...No reason. I just really don’t like you is all.” Bert kicked up some dirt, slouched against the pole.   
She carefully inspected Bert, looking him up and down no different from how she looked at his bat, or his pistols, “Leech, get in here.” She called out to just outside the tent   
Soon enough, Leech stepped into the tent decked out head to toe in NCR gear. Just her eyes- her… eye, staring out at Bert from under the brim of the wide hat. She held what looked like a sniper rifle over her shoulders, addressing her NCO with a salute, “PFC Leech reporting, need something, Sargent?”   
“Does our new friend here know you?” She motioned towards Bert, who shrunk instantly at her words. He had been hoping maybe he could hide a secret somewhere, but he was metaphorically bare ass nude right now.   
Leech’s eyes scrunched up slightly like she was cringing, “Erm, I didn’t think it was important to mention before, but yes I know Bert Gibbins.”  
“Well, now what a fun coincidence. Leech, I think you can help our poor disenfranchised little Bert feel more at home. More… at ease with his situation. You can play… babysitter, if you will.” When she said that, both Bert and Leech locked eyes and without a word very quickly communicated to each other   
‘This is a terrible idea’  
Bert objected first, “Yeah uh, Sarge, you’re not… That’s really not, needed. I can babysit myself.” he gave his best smile, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to look her in the eyes.   
Sargent looked Bert down, clearly unimpressed by his plea “For the sake of safety, I think it’s best if you are assigned an NCR soldier to accompany you. Leech, you can handle this right? You already did a perfect job knocking him out the first time around, I have no doubts you can do it a second time.” She left it unspoken, but this was also a camp full of men and women more than capable of giving him a few extra holes in the brain.   
Leech was silent but seemed to hold an unreadable quality on her expression. This was partially aided by the high collar of her outfit and eye singular. Only Bert would think to notice the little choices in her outfit she used to hide, “Yes, I can…. Perform this duty.”  
“Perfect, you can untie him and show him around the camp and get him familiar with how we do things around here. Then after dinner return him to this tent, I am going to have guards posted around her around the clock. Once he’s out of your hair I want you to report back to me, I’d love to hear more about how you know each other.” She had a small smile on her face. The smile gave about as much comfort as a bandit hound poison did well for your health. 

Bert rubbed his wrists, following behind Leech as she walked in front of him. She was walking just faster enough than Bert to make it an uncomfortable power jog. Bert was far too sore to be power jogging across the camp. They had been silent for most of the walk, Bert wasn’t sure where she was taking him and he was getting a really ugly sense of deja-vu.   
Bert very carefully broke the silence, “Do I… get my stuff back soon?”   
Leech didn’t slow her pace even a little, glancing back at Bert for a second before redirecting her attention back to in front of her, “Wait to talk till we get where we’re going.”   
Bert pulled his hair in front of himself more, bangs hiding his face. He probably looked like some wild-man from the swamp with his hair pulled out in front of him like this but it felt a lot more comfortable than anything else right now. He hadn’t been without his hat for this long in a while…   
Leech led him to a clearing with tables set up around a tent. There seemed to be people in and out of the tent, with more tables inside of it. Just off to the side of the tent seemed to be an outdoor grill on a fire pit, a few people lined up with wooden plates in hand. This didn’t seem like a very big force, a little worrying considering their mission was to take down an entire bandit foothold. Leech sat at a table and motioned for Bert to do the same.   
Bert slowly took his seat, looking around at some of the other groups of soldiers loitering around the tables. Some were playing cards and some were just chatting it up, “No soldier friends to introduce me to?”   
“Haven’t made any.” She very bluntly answered, pulling her collar down and her hat off. She set it down on the table, pulling her hair out from the collar of the outfit and out across her back. She let out a sigh of relief. Her freckles were much more obvious now, it was definitely her. It was every bit as Leech as it was 4 years ago. Her face was a lot more tired, she didn’t have that persistent smile anymore and her face seemed sharper. Of course, the eyepatch was new but Bert wasn’t going to get his clock cleaned and risk mentioning it again.   
“You look old,” Bert commented idly, leaning back in his chair, messing with his hair more.   
“You look like an asshole. Pull your hair back, it isn’t going to kill you for people to see your face.”   
“It won't… but it could.” Bert shot back, pulling his hair away from his face and pulling hair out of his mouth.   
“Tsk” She looked away, gingerly reaching up and poking a freckle speckled cheek, “I look old now? What a pain in the ass, you look exactly the same. Well, you’re taller. You’re probably stupider too with that smile you’re constantly wearing.”   
“What can I say? Fake it till you make it.” Bert was getting a really weird feeling about this conversation. It felt weird. It felt surreal as well, Bert would wake up any second and be in the back of the caravan.   
“That isn’t how smiling works you-” She let out a defeated sigh as Bert’s smile grew in size and she realized that giving up now would save a headache later, “...So, Mercenary Band?”   
“Were those scouts in Tenrock doing nothing but looking at mercenary groups or some shit?”   
“It was of note to the folks scouting out there, let us know who’s the hot shit of the Wyoming wasteland. Y’know, who to hire when we need to get NCR business done in Wyoming.”   
“...So, how long have you known I was in Wyoming?” Bert put his hands behind his head, balancing on two feet of the chair.   
“I honestly didn’t think it was you. You didn’t seem like the type to settle with a group, and your name isn’t exactly too uncommon sounding. It’s not like I was gonna walk over to Wyoming and check myself.” She shrugged, reaching up and rubbing the eyepatch.  
“Well I didn’t strike you as a military type, being an ex-bandi-” Bert was cut off by a foot in his knee, he let out a yelp. He reached down, slapping her boot away, “the HELL.”  
“Don’t go mouthing off about that. I am still thinking about what the hell I am gonna tell the Sargent...I think… I think if she asks you, you tell her you’re from the hotel.”   
“The one we robbed?” Bert raised his eyebrows  
“Yeah, it’s where I went after...everything. I had nowhere else I could go that would of been safe. I basically showed up on their door half dead.”   
Bert went quiet, his fingers twitching. He was still processing this mixed bag of feelings he was experiencing. Is this what Leech meant before when she didn’t dome him immediately? He was weirdly happy to see her, he had never been sure if she had died in that rotting farm home. He never wanted to think about it. Whether she had survived or hadn’t, he didn’t want to think about it. It was accompanied by too much complicated and unsorted emotions. Yet, wouldn’t this be a good time to sort it? Probably not. It would probably never be a good time to sort it.   
“Bert?” She glanced at him, snapping her fingers, “Bert!”  
“Shit, sorry. Yeah, the hotel. So they took care of you?”  
“Pretty much, learned my way around a rifle from that sniper that almost clipped us on our way out. Isn’t it funny how things work out?” she rapped her knuckles on the table idly, glancing over at the fire pit grill, “hungry?”   
Bert rubbed a hand over his stomach, grimacing, “Yeah being knocked out kind of works up an appetite, whoduh thunk?”  
“Pft, we ain't got many options beyond ‘mystery meat’ so don’t expect anything stellar.”   
Bert had had a fair share of terrible meals in his life, but suddenly the prospect of eating mystery meat was no longer as appealing as it used to be. Bert suddenly wished for a hot meal back at Tenrock, but his sense dashed it away. Rule number 1 of wandering; don’t groan at a free meal. He pushed himself up out of the chair with a light ‘hyup’, “I’ve set my expectations to low ever since I woke up as an indentured servant.”   
“That’s a really polite way of putting it Bert, I am proud.” She stood up as well, giving him a pat on the back and taking lead on walking to the grill.  
“Just keeping my audience in mind,” he commented with a slight bitterness to it, following behind Leech with some eyes on him. He wasn’t sure how aware everyone was of who he was, and that was the worst part of it. Bert wasn’t used to being a known name, he had spent most of his life entering every town he showed up in as a complete nobody and typically leaving it just the same. Now some folks had expectations about him, expectations he couldn’t begin to predict or understand.  
She stopped near the grill, grabbing two plates from a pile in a worn-out plastic tub. She handed the plate to him, reaching down and grabbing a pair of metal tongs. She hovered over the meat before grabbing one and plopping it on her plate. Bert squinted at the meat on the grill, it appeared to really just be whatever they could find slapped on a grill. Some of it looked like fish, some of it might have been beef. Bert grabbed the chewiest looking thing from the grill and placed it on his plate.   
Leech was grabbing silverware from another tub, motioning at the table. Once they sat down she passed it off to him, he took it and gave it a look. Bert didn’t typically scrutinize his silverware, but he did take a moment's interest in the crudeness, “Wonder who made these.”   
“Dunno, probably from an NCR prison. Dunno how many of those they manage anymore, but the NCR is pretty good at making things like this last a long time.”  
“Neat, now for meat.” Bert stuck his fork into the meat and grinded the dull knife against it.  
“I am gonna have to beg you to not rhyme for the sake of my sanity.” She had a wry smile, cutting her meat as well   
“I feel like I am fully justified to employ whatever psychological tactics I see fit. You did call me Rat in the woods. That was dirty.” He accusingly pointed his knife at her before continuing the fruitless cutting. Eventually, just tearing the meat with his fork and stuffing it in his mouth   
“Oh, you’re gonna hold that against me?” She quirked a brow at him  
“I did tell you not to call me Rat. Ya know, right before I shot you while you called me a rat.” He shrugged, continuing to eat. The meat tasted like charred ass, but fuck it.  
“Well I feel like the getting shot part of that ordeal gives me a buy. Besides, I don’t know you as Bert Gibbins...” She jabbed her meat with her fork, giving Bert a small glare.  
“Well, you do now. Call me Rat one more time and I am rhyming again.”   
“Spare me, please.” She rolled her eyes, “After this, I am gonna show you the medical tent and then we’ll pass by the armory. This place isn’t much, and you don’t need to see where everyone is sleeping since you’ve got your own special tent.”  
“Special tent.” He muttered to himself

They finished their meal, Leech motioning for Bert to follow her as she started stepping towards a dilapidated tent with a red cross shoddily painted overtop the side of it. Bert felt a kind of nervousness he couldn’t easily place. Leech pulled the tent flap open, and Bert could instantly spot someone hunched over in a crate, rummaging through it.   
“Brinkley!” Leech shouted at the man, he shot up out of the crate. He was… young. Older than Bert and Leech for sure but he wasn’t the wizened old doctors he was used to. He had a yellowed lab coat with white gloves dangling off his hands loosely. His hair was a wooden brown, pulled back into a ponytail. He had round wireframes for his glasses, but on closer inspection there didn’t appear to be any glass in the frames.   
“Leech! How do you do today? Is this about your situation regarding the ra-” Leech cut him off quickly with a hiss.   
“Brinkley.” She pulled Bert by the elbow into the tent, pushing him in front of the doctor, “this is our temporary member, Bert Gibbins. Say hello Bert.”   
“Hello!” Bert offered his hand to Brinkley, who produced a yellow band out from a spool he had on hand, measuring Bert’s palm.  
“Oho very nice, very nice indeed. Tell me, Bert Gibbins, how well versed are you in the field of medicine?” He wrapped the band around Bert’s hand, pulling it up and down to shake Bert’s hand and then pulling the measuring tape back into the spool.   
“There is very little I know less about sir.” Bert bluntly put it, not that he had never been curious about it. However, his endless onslaught of medical questions typically led to just burning his Good Doctor out.   
“Hah, unfortunate. No one here talks shop with me, it’s killing me to not have someone else to discuss my theories with.”   
“Theories...right uh, so you’re the Doc?” Bert wiped his hand off on his shirt, even without any skin to skin contact he felt the need to just… get whatever was on his handoff.   
“Yes, yes, I know my way around a few stimpacks and radaways. Maybe if you really need it, addictol. Yet my TRUE passion and profession is in animal biology. I am the SPEARHEAD of our little mission. The recent uptick in activity in this area? All my doing. We are fighting a war of attrition my boy! A war!” Brinkley lifted his hand into the air then clenched it into a tight fist  
Bert slowly started to back up, “alright that’s really neat but me and Leech got a LOT to see. You gotta fill me in on this war later though. Totally.”   
Brinkley gave an enthusiastic grin, waving goodbye to Bert as he returned to his rummaging. Leech had a snide look across her face, pulling the scarf off her collar back over her face to hide it, “Brinkley is eccentric, I know. Yet he does know how to stab people with needles, so he’s about as qualified as anyone I suppose.”   
Bert gave Leech a nasty side glance, “right...So, what’s this animal biology stuff about?  
Leech shrugged, leading away from the medical tent, “it’s more like he’s...a hunter. Not exactly a doctor or a biologist. He helps us catch animals, we let them loose on the territory. Don’t let him fool you.”   
“Yeah, I got a rotten feeling from his act. I’ve been around real doctors.” Bert let out a scoff, keeping close behind Leech.   
“Armory up next, we confiscated all your bullets so when you need them you’re going to have to check it out there. Even then, you can’t really just… check bullets out. You need written approval and to be accompanied by, most likely, several armed NCR soldiers. Which would include me.”  
“Fantastic. Wouldn’t want a crazed Merc with a loaded gun.” Bert remarked sarcastically  
“I am glad you understand,” Leech responded coyly, stepping up to a square tent that seemingly didn’t have a normal entrance. The front of it was blocked off with a window on the front. It was like a reception desk was set up on the front of the tent, with someone standing on the other side.   
“How do you get into that thing?” Bert gave the tent a befuddled look  
“Classified. Hey O’Malley, how are things?” Leech stepped up to the window, regarding the soldier on the other side. They had the collar pulled up, their goggles pulled over and their hat firmly on their head. They had almost no distinguishing features other than the fact they had no properly distinguishing features.   
“Mhm.” O’Malley let out a quiet grunt, which felt and sounded like the verbal equivalent of a shrug  
“I am showing our new temp here the what and what. You know the drill with his types for receiving munition.” Leech motioned towards Bert, who gave O’Malley a little wave.   
“MmHmm.” They sounded a lot more tired, giving Bert a solid lookdown.   
Bert leaned towards Leech, whispering towards her, “Is.. everyone here so fucking awkward to talk to?”  
“Mhm.” O’Malley sounded off at Bert, sounding a lot like a hard affirmative. Bert tensed up a little, how sharp were those ears under all those layers? Leeches good eye gave Bert a very bemused look. She turned away from the armory window, giving a wave  
“Alright O’Malley, talk to you later. Come on Bert, let’s get you back to your tent. You can wait in it while I grab you a bedroll.”   
“Pillow and blanket included?”  
“Pillow and blanket included.”   
Leech led him back to his tent, nodding at the guards that were posted there and ushering Bert inside of it before leaving Bert to himself for a bit. Bert stepped over to the table with his stuff on it, plopping his hat onto his head and letting out a sigh of relief. Finally, he could relax just a little. Not that this situation still wasn't an absolute shitshow, but now he felt a little more comfortable in his own skin. He also scooped up all his holotapes and stuffed them away. All his weapons seemed to have been moved elsewhere. They even seemed to have taken all his pens. Welp, suppose he won't be drawing the Sargent doing obscene things.   
The tent flap opened, Leech tossed the bedroll out at Bert. It landed in his lap with a small thud, “that's for you.”  
“Right! Right…” Bert started to untie the bedroll, a small pillow was stuffed in the middle of it when it was unrolled out, “So you went to the hotel afterwards… so…”  
“So what?” She seemed to tense up slightly. It was a lot like when a snake tenses up before biting you when they feel threatened. Slowly stepping into the tent a little more, letting the flap close behind her.  
“Do you know what happened to Neverland?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me drawing these idiots @SpoopArt


	3. NEVER EVER EVER LAND.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :(

The orange sky was like fire as the sun began to crown from the horizon. The real fire was in Leech’s body, it was in her legs and arms. It was in the weight of her body. It was definitely in her eye. Every jostle and step and stumble drove the pain further. It drove it so far it came back around to numbness. Elizabeth ‘Leech’ Walker began to unpackage the past few days in her mind. Running over every detail vaguely, and every mistake painfully. The first mistake was minute, a light breeze that kicked up a dust storm. She met Bert Gibbins. 

He had been cooking in the sun, passed out and half-dead in the dirt. Leech didn’t even spare two thoughts to helping him, it hadn’t been but 2 years since she had been saved by Peter and allowed to join Neverland as a lost boy. It made nothing but pure sense to do the same to another, now that she led her own small band of Lost Boys she should start taking initiatives to expand her little band of misfits within misfits. 

When he awoke he was a confused and nasty little bastard, like a piece of tumbleweed that rolled in and gave everyone dirty looks wherever he went. He wasn’t unpleasant, just course. Made rough by the wasteland just like everyone else, Leech thought she understood him like a well-read book. Peter must’ve as well, accepting him into their little bandit crew instantly. 

Leech knew just the new name for him, Rat. He would fit in perfectly with the others, they would play poker and drink Nuka-Cola and be a real little family. Going out for raids one week and joking and laughing the next. Leech knew she was doing right by what Peter wanted, she couldn’t see it behind his spectacles but she knew it in her heart. 

Hound and Fly took well to him, Fox seemed to want to play it carefully. Fox was always careful, it’s what made him a good second in command. Goat and Dove weren’t there to greet the new kid but Leech was sure they would like him too. Goat would butt heads with him but he did that with everyone, it was all he knew. 

She took Rat out solo to a little settlement called ‘The Hotel’, a bunch of folks having set up shop in some old fancy hotel. She showed him the motorized bicycles they used, and the mistakes just kept piling up. She couldn’t see it, how she was showing him his out. How could she? She couldn’t even consider there being such a thing as an out. Out of Neverland, she wasn’t Leech the leader, she was just a leech. 

Daring escapes for nothing but pillows and blankets, her and Rat rode away from The Hotel with their prize, something for Rat to sleep on back in Neverland, back home. 

Leech continued stumbling forward through the dirt. It slowly became a caked trail of blood behind her. She could see The Hotel on the horizon. It was the only place she could think of going to. 

Because there was no Neverland for her anymore, and each step towards the Hotel brought her further into her memories. 

After returning from The Hotel, Leech had learned what took Goat and Dove so long to get back. Goat had killed Dove while they were out, and he was sitting at the edge of the ‘Tank’. Peter looked at Leech, he looked at her. She knew what he wanted, he didn’t need any words for her to know. She pushed Goat into the waters and watched the brilliant glowing blue bathe the room in crimson red. 

She didn’t need words to know something in Rat shifted, he may have been hiding his eyes and widening his smile but no amount of hiding could cover the stench of his feeling: fear. 

Peter approached Rat himself, and Rat left that room alone. The others chased him, but no one was as fast as him. No one except Leech. She alone found him in that musty old farmhouse that smelled of dead roaches. 

Her shoulder hurt. Her legs hurt. Her eye hurt. Yet even if every bone in her body had been broken, it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as her heart hurt. She had failed Peter, and worse than that she found herself giving up on Peter. Rat dug more doubt into her than metal and his words were sharper than the glass in her eye. 

Leech collapsed at The Hotel door. A pile of mistakes lying half-dead in the dust, and cooking in the sun. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Gamers unite


End file.
